Den of Thieves
by angelicperfection
Summary: Lacus is a young girl that works at a thearte. But when her life takes an unexpected turn, she meets a stranger and slowly falls for him. KxL, Chapter Three up! PLEASE REVIEW!
1. Moving On

**Den of Thieves**

**Chapter One: Moving On**

Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Seed or anything related to it. This is purely a fan made story.

A/N: My first ever story! The chapters might be a bit long, but hey. There may be hints of Lacus x Athrun at first, but I assure you, it's Lacus x Kira at the end. I just love the pairing!

Summary: The French royal family flees as Lacus takes her first steps as a dancing spy and witnesses the power of the people. If you only like to dine with absolute monarchs on good old English beer, suet pudding and beer, perhaps you should look somewhere else for satisfaction. In this story, you'll eat with the people on a meal of highly-spiced French adventure, washed down by a sparkling draught of dance. Will you take a seat at my table, _mes amis_?

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In the theatre, there always comes a moment when we bid goodbye to a play. The scripts are put back into their shelves, the scenery dismantled, the actors and actresses move onto new roles. Yesterday, my life at the Theatre Archangel, Ethereal Reality Lane, came to the end of its run after more then ten years. For me right then, everything was over.

I admit that I'm scared, and don't know what I should do. I wasn't prepared to receive such a huge blow, a sudden termination to the life I thought I was going to lead for the rest of my life. It is so strange to think that the curtain was brought down with such a simple question.

It was Mr. Olsen who caught me in the corridor backstage as I carried the actresses' wigs out of the powder room. "Lacus, come here. Tell me what you think." From the stage came the familiar sounds of the orchestra tuning up. My friend, Shinn, would already be in his place, sitting with the other violinists – and counting the audience, as we had expected a full house. Backstage was abuzz with excitement as the moment of performance approached. I really didn't have time to linger about, but my patron, Mr. Olsen, could not be denied. He hauled me into his office, snatched the tray of wigs away from my hands, and dumped it unceremoniously onto the floor.

"Mr. Olsen! I'll get skinned if anything happens to those!" I protested as I tried my best to prevent many bucks' worth of powdered curls tumbling onto the hearth. He, headless in his enthusiasm, waved it away with a quick sentence of, "No, no, forget about those. I want you to be the one of the first to see the plans," and hooked me by the elbow and propelled me to the desk. "Fifteen minutes!" called the stage manager outside, and three actors rushed by, not yet in their costumes. They'd obviously lingered too long in the Players' Tavern, a place somewhat like a recreation room.

On the scuffed leather surface of the desk laid a sheaf of crackling white parchment scored with lines and tiny numbers. I smoothed out my dress, a simple white and sky blue schemed outfit which had a laced bow and frills, and had two tiny white straps holding it up on my shoulders. My long pink hair, which reached all the way down to my knees, was ruffled up, and I tried my best to smooth it down again. Fingering the small, golden, crescent shaped clip that held up my fringe, I marveled at its handicraft. It must have been difficult to make, with the lower crescent overlapping the top one. My cerulean blue eyes met those of Mr. Olsen's, and I detected a hint of glee.

"So?" he asked, rubbing his hands eagerly, looking across at me, his grass green eyes sparkling. He evidently wanted my opinion – a fact that I would have found flattering if I hadn't been in such a rush to deliver the wigs; the actresses wouldn't thank me if I made them late for their first entrance. I had better get this over with quickly, and so, I turned my mind to the papers in front of me. It was clearly a design for a grand building of some sort – a palace perhaps. Perhaps Mr. Olsen's extravagant friend, the Prince of Wales, had yet another construction project in his sights?

"What is it, Mr. Olsen?"

"It's Ethereal Reality, of course, my dear girl." My patron's flushed face beamed happily. Was he drunk? I, nevertheless, took a closer look. I could see the vast stage and auditorium, but this wasn't my theatre. None of my familiar landmarks were here; he must be joking. "No it's not, sir. Where's the scenery store? Where's the Phoenix's Nest?"

"You don't understand, Lacus. Not **this** worn-out pile of bricks and cracked plaster," he waved dismissively at the ceiling. "These are the plans for the** new** Theatre Archangel – one fit for our modern age that will rise from the ashes of the old." Mr. Olsen had often talked about sprucing up the theatre when he had the money, but he never did, so I had always let these ramblings wash over me. "Very nice, sir," I said commitally, wondering if I could get on my way. In fact, I thought the plans looked terrible – they represented a vast, soulless place where actors and actresses would seem like objects viewed the wrong way down a telescope, if I had understood the drawings correctly. It would kill the theatre – and probably a few of our leading actors and actresses as they tried to make themselves heard in that place. It was a good job that it would never be built.

"Ten minutes! Light the stage candles!" the stage manager called. "I'm glad you like it, Lacus," Mr. Olsen said, caressing the papers, "because this evening I'm going to announce to the cast that the last performance within these walls will be on 4th June. When we close, the demolition crew will move in to knock the old place down."

"What!" I felt as if he had just tipped a kettle of hot, scalding water on me. "I know this is very soon, but I didn't want to make a premature announcement. I couldn't get a builder for the job until I'd put the money on the table. Apparently, my reputation for not being prompt about settling my account has preceded me." He chuckled and smoothed his white silk cravat that was fixed in place with a diamond-headed pin.

This was serious.

"What, Lacus? You don't look pleased."

"How long will the theatre be closed, sir?"

"Oh, I don't know - a couple of seasons perhaps. We're not talking about a refit here – this is a complete rebuild."

"But that's years!" I yelled, which was unlike myself. He darted me a look out of the corner of his eye. "I know it's going to mean a lot of changes for everyone, and we'll have to camp out at the King's Theatre for a while, but I'm sure the company will all pull together when they understand what we stand to gain."

"I see." I said no more. My home was about to be destroyed: the Phoenix's Nest, my foothold in the world for as long as I could remember, was to be turned into rubble; the playground backstage that I'd shared with Shinn was about to be reduced to dust. Where would we go? At least Shinn had his master, the musical director – as an apprentice, he would be looked after. But I, as an orphan under the protection of the theatre, I'd been allowed a corner no one else wanted. In a new theatre, where no one knew me, would I be so fortunate again?"

Mr. Olsen must have been following some of my thoughts from the expressions on my face. "When this is all over, Lacus, I think you'll recognize it was for the best. You can't bed down in the costume store any more like some stray kitten. You're a young lady of sixteen now, and need to find proper lodgings for yourself – start to make your own way." What with? I worked in exchange for bed and board. I'd never had any money to call my own. "I have every confidence that you'll keep flowing like a lake, as normal. You're not called Lacus for nothing." He continued cheerfully, ruffling my pink hair. I knew that for my own good I had to be practical. I couldn't indulge myself and let out a wail of grief that welled inside me. "Can I move with the company, sir?" I asked. "Will you start paying me wages?"

Mr. Olsen started to tidy away the plans. "We'll see. Money's a bit tight at the moment, what with the cost of the new building and removal. Have a word with Mrs. Reid – she might be able to squeeze something out of the wardrobe budget for you. Though, I must admit, I'd rather thought you were going to make your fortune by your pen. I understood that the Duke of Avon was helping you to find a publisher." He'd hit upon a sore spot. "His grace has tried, but the booksellers find my books too shocking. They've told me to write about love and female duty – not adventure and battles."

Mr. Olsen laughed. "Don't you listen to them, Lacus! You have to put up your fair share of rejection as a writer if you want to succeed. Keep trying – you'll find your audience someday." he said. "Yes, when I'm six feet under and woman are equal to men – that means never," I muttered sullenly. "We'll see, sir," I said humbly, bobbing a curtsey. "May I go now?" I asked. "Yes, yes, off you go, child. And don't worry: we'll make sure you're all right one way or another." He said, leafing through the plans once more.


	2. The Sudden News

**Den of Thieves**

**Chapter Two: The Sudden News**

Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Seed or anything related to it. This is purely a fan made story.

A/N: The second chapter to this story. The suspense! Lacus has just left the office, filled with doubt of her future. Poor Lacus, so young and yet she has to go through the obstacles of life. –sighs in sympathy for Lacus-

Summary: The French royal family flees as Lacus takes her first steps as a dancing spy and witnesses the power of the people. If you only like to dine with absolute monarchs on good old English beer, suet pudding and beer, perhaps you should look somewhere else for satisfaction. In this story, you'll eat with the people on a meal of highly-spiced French adventure, washed down by a sparkling draught of dance. Will you take a seat at my table, _mes amis_?

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I picked up the tray of wigs and retreated from the office, full of doom. I knew my patron better than to trust his vague promises. Many a shopkeeper had spent hours besieging him for payment only to be fobbed off with hints of money in the future.

"Lacus, where's my wig?" screeched Miss Aisha as I pushed my way into the bustling dressing room. Half-clothed dancers clustered around the mirrors, elbowing each other out of the way to plaster their faces with make-up, gossiping to each other in quick-fire French. Well, if I was going to persuade everyone I was an indispensable part of the backstage crew, I could afford to make no enemies by rudeness – even Miss Aisha, a middling order actress of indifferent talent. "Sorry, miss. I was delayed by Mr. Olsen," I replied meekly, battling through the ballerinas to reach her.

Miss Aisha curled her pretty lips skeptically. She had a patch on her cheek like a squashed fly, hiding a pox mark that spoiled her alabaster skin. "Put it on me then, girl." She said, and I lifted the wig from the tray, trying to blow off some of the soot before she noticed, and lowered it onto her head like the Archbishop of Canterbury crowning the King. She stared at her reflection. "What have you done, you slattern! You've ruined it!" she wheeled round and slapped my face hard. I cringed in pain, and Miss Reid bustled forward to break up the commotion. "What's the matter, Miss Aisha?" she said soothingly. I rubbed my cheek, boiling with resentment, but bit my tongue. It wasn't my fault, but I had to be responsible for it. "The dirty little beggar's spoiled my wig! How can I go onto stage looking like a chimney sweep?" Miss Aisha yelled, and Miss Reid clucked and fussed over her head. She enveloped the actress in a cloud of white dust as she repaired the damage. "Look! As good as new."

"Hmm." Miss Aisha turned her face this way and that while I cast my eyes onto the floor, ashamed of myself. "I suppose it'll do, but make sure you punish the girl: it could have ruined my performance." As if it needed me to spoil it – she did that well enough herself.

"I will, you can be certain of that." Miss Reid glared at me. This was so unfair! "But it wasn't me, Miss. Mr. Olsen dropped the tray when he took me to his office." I said, which made the both of them cock their eyebrows. "What was he doing with you in his office, on your own?" she asked, and two of the dancers giggled as they brushed past. I felt my face flush scarlet, and wound a strand of my hair around my fingers. "He wanted to show me his plans, Miss."

"Oh yes?"

"Yes, plans for the new theatre," I continued loudly, savouring the moment when I would fire my broadside. "He's closing down Ethereal Reality and knocking it down. On 4th of June to be precise. We've all got to move."

You could have heard a pin drop. In fact, several did tumble from Miss Aisha's head as she jerked back in her chair to stare at me in disbelief.

"What did you say?" she hissed.

"It's the end. Ethereal Reality is doomed. The curtain falls, and all is gone. Can I put it any clearer for you, Miss?" I asked innocently.

She missed my sarcasism in her surprise. "But where are we going? Will we lose our positions?" she exclaimed.

An excited babble broke out in all quarters as the cast began to discuss their fate. Sooty wigs forgotten, the news spread as dancers darted off to whisper it to their boyfriends among the stagehands. Soon there was no corner of the theatre that didn't know what was afoot, no doubt as Mr. Olsen had intended when he chose to tell me first.

"Five minutes to curtain up! Beginners, please!" called the stage manager as he tried to hush the hubbub behind the scenes. Miss Aisha swept past me without a word, her velvet train leaving a trail in the powder. With a sigh, I picked up a broom to sweep the floor. The orchestra began the overture as I made my exit from an empty dressing room. There was no one to see me go as all eyes were now on the stage.

With leaden feet, I climbed the stairs to my lonely corner of the Phoenix's Nest, and huddled on my couch, counting the days until I had to fly away.

_Only twelve left…_


	3. That day, that time

**Den of Thieves**

**That day, that time**

Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Seed or anything related to it. This is purely a fan made story.

A/N: The third chapter! I'm sorry if I don't update that quickly anymore, I do have a ton of tests and exams to study for! Lacus and Kira will meet each other pretty soon, probably in the next few chapters! And yes, I'm switching to 3rd person narrative now, as I want to try using POV sometime soon!

Summary: The French royal family flees as Lacus takes her first steps as a dancing spy and witnesses the power of the people. If you only like to dine with absolute monarchs on good old English beer, suet pudding and beer, perhaps you should look somewhere else for satisfaction. In this story, you'll eat with the people on a meal of highly-spiced French adventure, washed down by a sparkling draught of dance. Will you take a seat at my table, _mes amis_?

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"That'll do, Lacus!" Cagalli grinned as she nodded with approval at the pink haired lady in front of her. They had spent ages at the shop, and Cagalli had finally decided on that outfit for her best friend.

It was a pink and white schemed dress, with a fold at the top that was silted in the middle, and had magenta squiggles on it. Below that was a patch of white to cover the abdomen area, all the way until the knees. A piece of pink skirt-like clothing was sewn onto the waist area, which also had a long silt in the middle to reveal the white dress inside, and had magenta patterns on both sides of the skirt. Compared to the other dresses in the famous shop, the dress Lacus was modeling was the simplest, yet most sophisticated looking on her. Cagalli handed her cash card to the cashier, and the duo walked out of the shop.

"Lady Cagalli, you really shouldn't be doing this for me. After all, I'm not a Princess or anything, and people think that…"

"Nonsense, Lacs! And for heaven's sake, stop calling me Lady Cagalli! Do you want me to be found out by the guards? Plain old Cags will do very well, don't you think? Plus, this dress is to help improve your image, my dear. You really can't walk around in those rags of yours anymore!" Cagalli protested and shook her head in mock tiredness. As they walked on, chatting happily, a carriage raced down the street as the people on the driving seats put their horses through their paces. Lacus sneezed as they waited for the dust to settle, while Cagalli grumbled with a simple, "More money than sense, huh, Lacs?"

As the dust cleared, Lacus noticed two heavily-built men in brown jackets watching them from the opposite side of the street. Cold fear clutched at her when she realized that they had the unmistakable air of hired people to execute their master's orders, be it to collect debts or break limbs. "Let's go, Cags." She whispered to her royal friend, sparing her the merest hint of a nod towards the danger she had spotted.

Quick to reach a similar conclusion, Cagalli's eyes widened in alarm and they picked up their pace, aware that the men were walking briskly in the same direction, only parallel to them. The second man strode over the road and reached the pavement a few feet from us. Lacus gripped Cagalli's arm in fear, while Cagalli was prepared to let out a piercing scream plus a few unladylike moves if it came to that. The man simply smiled mockingly before bowing and held out a black silk pouch to Lacus.

"I think you dropped something, miss."

"You are very much mistaken, sir. That doesn't belong to me."

'_What dodge was the man up to? Did he think that Lacus would fall for a magsman's trick like that?_' Cagalli thought, resisting the urge to growl at the man. Meanwhile, the man just let out a laugh and drew out a long piece of pink hair from the pouch.

"My master said that you were sure to remember it. He swore that you would come along like a little lamb. But he said, in case your memory was not too sharp today, that we should bring the means to…how should I put it? Oh yes, to ensure that you keep your appointment with him." He nodded to his friend standing at my back, and Lacus could hear knuckles crack as the bully flexed his fists.

Cerulean blue orbs met golden brown, and Lacus's grip on Cagalli's arm tightened, drawing comfort in it. Her own hair - cut off from her head by a razor a few years ago – Shepherd's calling card…


End file.
